Delivery
by Heddwig
Summary: Hermione is expecting.


**A/N: **This is a work of fiction purely inspired by J.K. Rowling and her affiliates, I do not wish to copyright infringe on what they have created. No profit is being made from this work.

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As her pregnancy furthered, her body-particularly her face-began to look frightenly ill. The normal, expected, weight of her body lessened; she rejected food or ate very little, she still remained immensely famished. Her cheeks that had been well developed and cuppable by his large hands sunk inwards, and her eyes began to slump in their eye sockets. It was strange how her condition was worsening, especially the glow on her expectant body; she was dim and unhealthy-looking.

Often Draco would find himself observing her struggle to get around their tiny cottage, one hand always reaching to lightly grasp a stable object while the other was pressed into the curve of her lower back. Somehow it was becoming hard to remember the form of her body, the way they almost melded together as one a little over seven months ago, as he watched her deteriorate.

They both knew what would happen if the baby came on the expected due date, they knew. And oh, how it frightened them...more so him than her.

The condition was strange indeed, almost highly impossible to die as the child developed, but it existed and she was an example.

All the while, Hermione refrained from doing anything that might harm the baby with the disregard of her severe lack of appetite and her inability to nurture the growing child. Most nights she would cover her face with hands and cry into her palms, salt water almost creating a fragile pool in the crevasse where her hands met her cheeks. Draco would stay awake as well, either lying on his back with his forearm beneath his pillow or on his right side-back facing his helpless wife.

He wanted to help, occasionally he would soothe her into a calmer state of mind and press his body against hers for comfort as he waited and listened for her light snores. But now, as she worsened, he found that the same words used in different ways no longer held the same affect they once did.

However on one particular night, Hermione didn't come to bed as expected... The hallway lights were lit still and Draco could hear the rustling of pans at a soft distance. He got up as soon as he realized she wouldn't be coming to bed, and walked into the kitchen all the while not wanting his footsteps to sound rushed. He leaned against the frame of the kitchen's entryway and with his arms folded across his chest, watched as Hermione fiddled about-hands shaking, almost dropping items completely-trying to make a random assortment of food.

"Do you need help?" He asked and in his mind, he scoffed at the redundancy of the very question...of course she would need help.

"No, I can do this on my own!" Before Hermione had even responded with that statement, she had set the items down on the counter and calmly rest her hands on the edge of the countertop, head slightly bowed in determination.

"Are you sure?" Draco crept closer, not bothering to stop his movements as he got so close his torso was almost touching her right shoulder. Leaning against his right arm, hand placed on the countertop, Draco looked at the little details of her face. The pregnancy truly had changed her. He watches her lips purse than pucker, she thinks to say something that would be falsely reassuring and encouraging. She wanted to be confident despite her fear...the knowledge that at the end...

When she looked up there were tears forming that just started to fall over the brink of her bottom eyelids. Immediately Draco wrapped his arms around her, securely, and gave her a brief tight squeeze.

"Come to bed, 'Mione. I'll make breakfast in the morning." Draco kissed the side of her face many times, his lips became moist from the sweat on her face.

That night, while lying on his side, Draco cried as soon as he heard her start to snore.

After the eighth month had nearly passed, they visited St. Mungo's. When leaving, Draco shooed Hermione out into the hallway so he could further his talk with the doctor. While she had tried to concentrate on the baby's health and well-being, Draco wanted to know if any good news might have come up for Hermione in the span of a few weeks since their last visit. Instead the doctor shook his head and mentioned what he had said before, that the baby might be early.

Draco didn't like that. He didn't like how it was meant to be heard as good news.

He almost wrecked the room after the doctor left; his anger was peaking and he found that after pacing the small, dark room, he couldn't breathe. His chest felt constricted and his knees felt weak. Eventually he fell to the ground in a panicked fit...he pulled his knees closer to his chest and looked toward the opposing baseboard, his eyes watering-he began to cry.

Hermione came into the room immediately as soon as she heard his blatant cries, her eyes frantically searched the room at her level until she narrowed her view and found him-leaning against a wall, curled in an upright ball. When she landed on her knees in a haste, she scurried toward him and pulled him close to her while at the same time, she held him in a tight embrace.

Sounded winded, Draco says, "I love you, Hermione."

At that moment, as soon as those words left his mouth, she knew what he was thinking-what he understood what they were so afraid of. There was a fountain of words mounting in her throat and mouth-she wanted to say so many things but she was unable to open her mouth. She just held onto him like he were her last hope and listened to him crying, listened to the pain and let his words echo in her mind.

In spite of the moment, she thought of the baby...and she hated it. She absolutely hated the dreadful creature for doing this. Barely married two years, barely made love to her husband, barely got to experience her career, and she's already disappearing. She didn't like that she was dying and that she wouldn't get to be the mother to watch it grow into an adult. Draco would have to do it alone.

She regretted keeping the child despite what the doctor told her earlier on in the pregnancy. She got to live, she got to experience so many things, and that baby...that baby would only just be starting out. But now...now the future experiences, the experiences now, they pale in comparison...her life...it's being taken away from her.

The thing that was supposed to give motherly happiness was only taking that away. And she was realizing all of this too late because during the majority of her pregnancy, she was denying it and so was Draco.

That same night, the young couple didn't let go of each other...she held onto his arms and hands, and he tangled his body with hers in whatever way he could manage. He smelled her hair that had the aroma of vanilla and cleanliness, it was a comforting smell despite all of the sadness. Occasionally Hermione would pull his hands closer to her mouth and she'd plant delicate kisses along his pale skin. Draco tried to do the same by moving her long, bushy, hair away from her nape and kissing her there where he felt her shiver.

Then together, almost accidentally, their hands slid down to her swollen belly.

"I love you, Hermione." Draco whispers, craving the weak electric current her body barely transmitted to him. He pressed his body against her backside further, did whatever he could to feel the warmth he did months ago.

Taking hold of his hand that still rest on her belly, Hermione said that she loves him too in a solemn manner because she had been too focused on the fetus growing inside of her. Killing her. Taking moments like these away from her. Taking Draco away from her.

The creature was selfish, selfish like her father had been.

And for a few second or two, she smiled foolishly. A genuine smile created only out of unintentional happiness.

A day before she was due to give birth, Hermione was absolutely eager to have Draco stay by her and vice versa. She was afraid to let go of his hands or to be rooms apart, she didn't want to think of the day that came after the current one ended. She didn't want to let go.

They kissed many times, and frequently the kisses were crowded with sorrow.

When they tried to lighten the damper by choosing names for the child, Draco eventually resigned from the conversation. He was further away from acceptance, he seemed to only move backwards-toward denial and anger-while Hermione tried to continue forward ever since her first genuine moment of happiness. A smile that Draco couldn't have seen, one that was meant only for her, her memories, and the child.

Maybe the baby would be more like Draco but she hopes not.

When the day came, they left the house in silence.

Upon reaching St. Mungo's, they released each other's hands and Hermione watched as Draco stood still, in place, as he stared at her in such a yearning way. He wants to think that maybe he could keep them both, that maybe he wouldn't hate the child for taking her away but he knows not to be so naive.

Especially as he watched her, Hermione, leave his side. And he tried not to cry, he tried so hard not to let her see him collapse both emotionally and physically. But she got to see it just before the double doors closed, before he was led to the delivery room.

She hadn't been able to fully conceive the baby before her heart gave out and he tried so hard not to dehumanize the child. He tried so hard not to hate the damned thing for leaving behind its mother, its beautiful mother.


End file.
